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by thornmallow



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-17
Updated: 2012-06-17
Packaged: 2017-11-07 22:30:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/436151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornmallow/pseuds/thornmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki retrieves Thor from Midgard.  It is unpleasant.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Written for my friend Avali.

Loki sits in his chair, hands folded in his lap, and waits for his brother to stir. The doors to his chambers are shut and locked; they are warded with a spell to muffle any sound that might slip through the stone.

The better part of an hour passes before Thor shakes his chains. Loki does not mind; he has all the cold patience of a cat with a mouse trapped, supine, in its claws. Thor is no mouse, even as a man, but his muscles fail him as he struggles against the shackles.

“Brother,” he growls, “What do you mean by this?”

“Don’t you recognize the scenery?” Loki says. He leans forward, grinning over the rim of a goblet. “I’ve brought you home.”

Loki sets down the wine, exchanging it for the length of chain that curls around his chair’s legs. He tugs the chain sharply, and Thor lets out a strangled cry as he’s forced closer to that smug, malevolent smile. The chains protest as they are yanked taut from the wall to Loki’s fist, clinking and echoing harshly as they scrape against each other and the floor. Thor is bound across his chest and around his throat and ankles and wrists; he moves only at Loki’s whim.

The realization that he is in Asgard—despite the circumstances—disarms Thor. His eyes widen, then narrow. “Have you brought me here to taunt, then?”

“More than that,” Loki murmurs. He runs a razor-pointed black nail across Thor’s left cheek. A bright red line wells in the wake of Loki’s touch, and he retraces the trail with his tongue.

Thor shudders. “Loki—”

“You’re so fragile now, aren’t you,” Loki says. He cups Thor’s chin, squeezes his jaw until the bone starts to crack. “So breakable.”

Thor grunts in pain, tries to jerk away from Loki’s grip, but to no avail. A scream rises in his throat, dying on his lips when Loki kisses him, fierce and sudden. Loki’s teeth tear at Thor’s mouth, rending his lower lip and beckoning blood from the wound. When he draws back, Loki’s face is smeared with crimson, and his grin is wild, feral.

“Don’t do this,” Thor says. “You don’t have to do this.”

“You’re right,” Loki says. He positions himself behind Thor and then seizes his brother by the waist. Pressing his dense, supernatural weight against Thor’s back so as to make him bow or suffer a broken spine, Loki purrs, “I want to.”

The pliant body beneath him thrills Loki; he revels in the muscles that are hard but enervated, in the limbs that yield unwillingly to his desire. He is maddened by the absolute power he wields over his brother; no one can praise Thor now, no one can look at him save Loki, and no one will again. 

Loki exhales between his brother’s shoulderblades. He undoes Thor’s belt, then his own.

Thor gasps as Loki fits himself into his brother without further warning or preamble. Shock becomes agony as Loki thrusts once, twice, again and again, without speech or mercy, holding Thor still and tight. He rakes his nails across Thor’s bare chest, slices the delicate skin over his nipples. 

Thor fights Loki; he writhes and strains and twists, but his efforts have no more effect than a butterfly trying to escape a pin. He is trapped by a force that he cannot hope to overcome.

Loki throws his head back and laughs as this truth registers on Thor’s face. He sinks his nails in deeper; Thor’s chest and stomach are bloody, esoteric maps of intersecting slashes. His neck glistens from Loki’s tongue, and his back aches from the vicious attention of Loki’s mouth. His mind is awash in the pain and shamed by the unexpected, hateful pleasure; when Loki’s thrusts gather in speed, Thor has to choke back a demand for his brother to hurry. This is humiliation on every level, and Thor’s skin burns and perspires under its yoke.

Loki isn’t one to miss a trick. He hisses in Thor’s ear, “Feels good, doesn’t it? It’s good for me, too.”

Thor moans in response, and that’s all Loki needs. He lets the tension that’s built inside of him release into Thor, hot and thick and spilling out to drip onto the floor. His brother howls.

Loki relaxes against the wall, panting, and finally eases his hold on Thor, though his arms still encircle Thor’s waist loosely. 

“Isn’t it good to be home, brother?” he proclaims, in a voice shaky and delirious from orgasm. “Right where you belong.”

Thor stares at the blood- and semen-slicked marble tiles and says nothing.


End file.
